remnants.
With all this moving happening around here, I’ve come across some ehemm…interesting things I didn’t know we owned. Take, for example, the 30+ guitar picks I’ve found in textbooks, change jars, even the underwear drawer. Or perhaps you’d like to know that we have 4 jumbo sized bags of rubberbands? Or 5 sets of measuring cups (the result of college days + graduation gifts + living apart for two years + wedding presents)? Or more CD cases than I can shake a stick at?
Our homes, mine included, often become the dumping ground for things we love—love at least for the short-term.
Around midnight each night I’ve walked down the cluttered hallway toward our bedroom when the thought of just starting over has entered my head. Starting over with STUFF. Starting over with our color-coordinated closets & fuzzy rugs on the bathroom floors. Because the truth is that while our STUFF sits in storage boxes over the next 12 months, I won’t likely miss most of it. Sure, I’ll miss the comforts of having it around—those twinkly candles during movie night & the handmade pillow covers to welcome each new season—but the bulk of it will go unnoticed over the next 365 days.
Her house was loved—it was obvious from the clean blue carpet & the cinnamon smell that penetrated each nose wandering through the house. Their belongings from years of marriage were lined up against the walls, kitchen cupboards open & closet doors flung wide. The jewelry was arranged in glassed-in-boxes in the guest room; crystal vases & china dishes sat on the large dining room table. The same table their meals once rested on, made by loving hands & consumed by hungry tummies.
I didn’t know her—I didn’t know them. But my senses took in their lives.
Clean carpets. Cinnamon. Freshly oiled woodwork, dusted glass figurines. Stacks of old newspaper, jars of chipped dominos.
She cared about her home. She cared about the things in her home. And while the remnants she’d left behind made it obvious she took pride in their humble homestead, something more was present.
A faith, perhaps? The old shelf filled with bibles from the late 1800’s pointed to a family history of Trust.
A love, perhaps? The aprons now hanging in the kitchen once collected dust & sweat from homemaking—her lifetime occupation.
Whatever it was, it was a HOME. Stitched together by a marriage, working hands, & love for one another.
What does your HOME say about you? What remnants will it leave behind? And most importantly, is "it" saying what you want it to?
Our homes, mine included, often become the dumping ground for things we love—love at least for the short-term.
Around midnight each night I’ve walked down the cluttered hallway toward our bedroom when the thought of just starting over has entered my head. Starting over with STUFF. Starting over with our color-coordinated closets & fuzzy rugs on the bathroom floors. Because the truth is that while our STUFF sits in storage boxes over the next 12 months, I won’t likely miss most of it. Sure, I’ll miss the comforts of having it around—those twinkly candles during movie night & the handmade pillow covers to welcome each new season—but the bulk of it will go unnoticed over the next 365 days.
Her house was loved—it was obvious from the clean blue carpet & the cinnamon smell that penetrated each nose wandering through the house. Their belongings from years of marriage were lined up against the walls, kitchen cupboards open & closet doors flung wide. The jewelry was arranged in glassed-in-boxes in the guest room; crystal vases & china dishes sat on the large dining room table. The same table their meals once rested on, made by loving hands & consumed by hungry tummies.
I didn’t know her—I didn’t know them. But my senses took in their lives.
Clean carpets. Cinnamon. Freshly oiled woodwork, dusted glass figurines. Stacks of old newspaper, jars of chipped dominos.
She cared about her home. She cared about the things in her home. And while the remnants she’d left behind made it obvious she took pride in their humble homestead, something more was present.
A faith, perhaps? The old shelf filled with bibles from the late 1800’s pointed to a family history of Trust.
A love, perhaps? The aprons now hanging in the kitchen once collected dust & sweat from homemaking—her lifetime occupation.
Whatever it was, it was a HOME. Stitched together by a marriage, working hands, & love for one another.
What does your HOME say about you? What remnants will it leave behind? And most importantly, is "it" saying what you want it to?
2 comments:
My home is saying "Ahhh....we've been 85% decluttered!" That's the one perk of moving. Holding onto what YOU WANT and getting rid of what will not be missed and things that have lost their meaning to US. And our home is definitely OURS. :-)
i think i'm still figuring this whole mess out myself in this grand process...
and i don't like it very much, to be honest.
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